


Any Other Name

by HenryMercury



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Dorms, Hogwarts, M/M, Names, PWP: Proofreading What Proofreading, Scorpius is a Nerd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-19 23:30:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14883315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HenryMercury/pseuds/HenryMercury
Summary: It’s not Scorp’s fault that Albus might as well be namedboner-killer.Al’s going to have words with his dad about that one day.





	Any Other Name

**Author's Note:**

> For the discord folks who made me face up to the fact that even if I'll probably never love TCC Scorpius is Worth It.

“What’s in a name?” Scorpius choruses, head poking through the hangings of Albus’ four poster. “That which we call a rose by an other name would smell as—"

“Shut the _fuck up_ ,” groan Carpenter and Deshpande, who have the misfortune of being their dormmates at this—Al casts a quick _tempus_ —yep, pre-dawn hour on a Monday morning.

“Did you sleep at all?” Al asks the face looming over him, which is beaming—both with its wide smile and with its moonlike complexion reflecting Al’s _lumos_.

“Been reading,” Scorp replies, and Al takes that as a _no_. “Finished _Romeo and Juliet_. Also, I’ve decided to find you a new name.”

“I’ll give _you_ a new name in a minute,” Deshpande mutters—and Al loves Scorpius, but he’s close to agreeing.

“You couldn’t wait until morning to rename me?”

Scorpius gets that round-faced, earnest, _innocent_ look about him when he says, “It is morning.” It’s really a very good defence mechanism against getting punched in the mouth, Al thinks.

“ _Four thirty_ in the morning,” he points out.

“ _Fuck_ ,” is Carpenter’s heartfelt interjection.

Albus, accepting that he’s going to be awake now, casts a privacy charm around his bed and beckons for Scorp to come in.

“You’re not going to start calling me Romeo, are you?” he asks as Scorpius settles himself in under the blankets. He’s only sort of joking.

“Of course not, I’d be Romeo. Calling for you through your—curtain—at night.”

“Ha,” Albus points a finger at him. “So you admit it’s night.”

“That’s irrelevant. We’ve moved on from that,” Scorp says blithely.

Albus begs to differ. He won’t be moving on from it until the sun’s up.

“Anyhow, I thought we could test out a few new options. See which if them you _like_ , if you know what I mean.”

Scorpius performs one of his trademark attempts-to-wink, which look instead like twitching, squashed blinks. It’s hugely unnecessary; Al would have a hard time forgetting just what he means.

Scorpius really likes to say his name when they’re getting off. It’s really, really lovely in theory—the way his whole attention is focused on Al, the way he smiles and moans and marvels at Al’s touch, letting him know just how good it is, and how pleased he is that it’s Al he’s doing it all with.

It’s not Scorp’s fault that Albus might as well be named _boner-killer_. He’s going to have words with his dad about that one day—probably after he’s middle-aged and married, or at least moved out of home—but for now he’s going to talk as little about sex with either of his parents as they’ll let him get away with.

Last week Binns had had them studying Grindelwald, and Albus Dumbledore was an inevitable part of that history. The way everyone had turned to look at Al, like he was somehow relevant just because he’d blatantly been named after the former headmaster…

“Take your pants off,” says Scorp, wriggling around under the blankets until he’s propped up on his side, one hand free to reach over and dig around in Al’s lap. “Hurry up, Alistair.”

“Alistair’s not a sexy name,” Al protests, but he tugs his pants down all the same. “That was like, Mad-Eye Moody’s name. Never call me that again.”

“Sure thing, Aldous.”

Al shakes his head vigorously, even as he tenses at the first touch of Scorpius’ fingers to his prick. “That’s barely any different to Alb- Al- you know what,” he says.

“Of course, Alison,” Scorpius agrees, a bit solemnly for someone who’s just cast a wandless lubrication charm (he can do two spells wandlessly, but he has to pretend he can’t do any, because even Scorpius knows it’s better not to go and tell Flitwick about his sex life) and is now working a hand steadily up and down Al’s length.

“Girls’ names?” Al huffs. “Really? You’re literally holding my cock right now.”

“Names aren’t inherently gendered,” says Scorpius, flicking his thumb over the tip and drawing out an involuntary shudder. “Neither are cocks, though there may be a statistical—”

“Merlin, please, stop,” Al groans. And then groans again when Scorpius’ hand stills and retreats. “Not _that_ , keep doing that, just stop talking about all that stuff from Aunt Hermione’s books.”

“They were interesting books,” Scorp shrugs, but his hand is back and Al’s happy enough with that. “Very thoughtful Christmas gift. I can’t believe you weren’t going to read them, Alvin.”

Al’s fully hard now, despite the conversation. Scorp knows exactly how to work him, and the feel of a warm body up against his amongst the softness of the blankets is laying a languorous haze over him. He listens to the sound of Scorpius’ voice without registering what he’s saying. Scorp doesn’t mind this, he knows. He appreciates someone who’ll let him talk, and he’ll always stop to grab Al’s attention if it’s something he really needs him to hear and understand. Al just focuses on the feeling of Scorp’s hand, as active and distractible as the rest of him, toying with his balls one moment, his foreskin the next, and then gripping him tight and wanking hard just the way he likes. It’s impossible to anticipate, and all Al can ever do is give in and enjoy it, respond to each surprise as it comes and not care if he looks or sounds a mess. He’s been reliably informed that it’s fucking hot when he’s a mess, anyway.

At last Scorp takes him over the edge. Al takes a long moment just to lie back and catch his breath, eyes shut. When he opens them again it’s to Scorpius’ intent gaze.

“I think we’ve got a few options,” Scorp reports. “I noticed a big twitch on _Albuquerque_ , and then you came after _Almond_ —”

Albus can’t help but laugh. “Almond? These aren’t even names, Scorp. And I guarantee you it wasn’t the names my dick was approving of at any of those moments.”

“But it didn’t, you know, like last time. So that’s got to indicate some sort of approval, doesn’t it?”

Al drags Scorp down beside him, so that his neck’s accessible, and presses his lips against his adam’s apple.

“My dick just approves of _you_ , you dork,” he murmurs, giving a gentle nip and enjoying Scorp’s indignant moan. “Can we please go to sleep?”

Scorpius burrows down under the blankets so that only a tuft of blond hair peeks out. His cold feet tangle with Al’s. “Sure thing, Alien,” he whispers. “Sure thing.”


End file.
